


A Case of Identity

by Parallel_Deviation



Series: Detroit: Become Human Post-Pacifist Revolution, Canon Compliant - Post Canon (2034-2040) [4]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game), Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Bombing, Canon Compliant, Eventual Smut, F/M, Hostage Situations, Minor Mycroft Holmes/Sherlock Holmes, Minor Sherlock Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Minor Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Minor Sherlock Holmes/Philip Anderson, Post-Canon, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Romantic Fluff, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Rivalry, Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:35:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29932827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parallel_Deviation/pseuds/Parallel_Deviation
Summary: March 2040 to ?A car bomb explodes outside Connor and Bridget's apartment after Connor starts writing a blog about their cases.Based on BBC Sherlock episodes "The Great Game" and "The Sign of Three."----“Well, don’t feel bad Connor,” he assured him, “she’s long gone now, but I’m sure the girl will turn up again, someone like that can’t stay uninvolved.”“I don’t FEEL bad, Lieutenant,” the annoyed RK corrected him too insistently, “I don’t FEEL anything.”“Then why are you still scanning for the girl?” His partner candidly asked with a hint of amusement in his voice, “FEELING UPSET she somehow got away from you?” I cautiously leaned out from behind the trunk again; the RK was standing uncomfortably next to the senior detective.“No Lieutenant, I…” he paused and his LED glowed yellow, uncertain how to reply as his partner faced him with his arms crossed, clearly interested in how he would self-justify.“She could be useful in my investigation,” he finally answered, taking longer to respond to his partner’s ribbing than a machine should. I scoffed in my hiding spot.“Some ‘terrifying’ Deviant Hunter,” I thought to myself.
Relationships: Brother/Sister, Connor (Detroit: Become Human)/Original Female Character(s), Hank like Connor's Older Brother, Original Android Character(s) (Detroit: Become Human) & Original Female Character(s)
Series: Detroit: Become Human Post-Pacifist Revolution, Canon Compliant - Post Canon (2034-2040) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2157933
Kudos: 3





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Warning, please read the tags.
> 
> Hits: 14Mar2021 - 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bridget is working at CyberLife when her deviant network gets word to her she's needed at an emergency developing at a farmhouse just offshore from Belle Isle. She logs out and rushes to the scene needing to diffuse the situation before the DPD detectives turn up.

Monday November 8, 2038 10:08 am

I was working on my terminal Monday morning when Aidan rushed into my office. He was uncharacteristically out of breath and clearly uneasy; I instantly knew something was wrong.

“Bridget,” he said with concern while holding out a memory card, “we have a problem. A custodian just gave me this communication, saying it’s beyond urgent.” I took the card from him and put it into my personal tablet, then opened the file and entered our key to decrypt the text.

_Imogen killed owner, has gun, situation out-of-control, COME NOW!!! -RT_

“Shit,” I harshly replied, removing the card and using the heel of my boot to shatter it. “If anyone asks, I became ill and went home for the rest of the day.” 

“What is it?” Aidan asked with concern as I retrieved my bag. I paused before opening the office door.

“A hopefully salvageable situation.” I sadly replied and left my office, practically running through the halls out to my car.

I drove 5 minutes to Conners Creek and parked down the street from Imogen’s house, choosing to walk the rest of the distance so the engine wouldn’t startle her. Carefully approaching the farmhouse, I walked behind the garage and saw her holding a gun to Rupert, and her dead owner’s body to her right. Rupert passively held his hands in the air as she pointed the gun at him, her hands shaking.

“Imogen,” I cautiously called to her, slowly stepping into view, “we can figure something out.”

“I couldn’t take anymore!” she cried as I walked closer.

“Of course, you couldn’t,” I gently replied, positioning myself near Rupert, “I understand.” She focused on me but kept the gun pointed at him, her eyes wild with fear.

“The humans, they’ll….”

“Focus on my voice.” I gently cut her off, and walked a few steps closer to Rupert, who was scared but remained calm.

“I’m here to help you,” I carefully told her, “but I need you to let Rupert leave. Can you do that for me?” She thought for a moment and nodded. I kept my eyes on her as she pointed the gun at me. Rupert slowly backed away.

“is it alright if I speak with Rupert for a moment?” I leadingly asked her.

“Yes,” she unsteadily replied, lowering the gun slightly, “be quick.” 

“Rupert, go back to Jericho but don’t send anyone here,” I smoothly asked her, “will that be alright, Imogen?”

“Yes,” she agreed, “no one else comes here.” Rupert disappeared from my view. Imogen was obviously mentally broken and couldn’t understand we were her friends. I wondered what happened to make her break so severely and how best to encourage her to trust me.

“I’m not going to harm you Imogen, I’m on your side,” I gently assured her, taking a slow step toward her. “No one will harm you.”

“I can’t trust anyone!” she cried as the gun shook more violently in her hands.

“You can trust me,” I softly replied, taking another slow step.

“DON’T COME ANY CLOSER!” She jerked the gun upwards to my head. I stopped and slowly raised my hands.

“Alright,” I carefully answered, “I’ll stay right here. Do you want to tell me what happened today?” She sadly nodded and glanced at the body.

“He…attacked me…” she paused and deeply sniffed; the gun drifted slightly away to my chest.

“You were defending yourself,” I gently replied, “you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“He doesn’t love me,” she cried out with new tears streaming down her face. I was taken aback; I had never been great at communicating when people cry, and now I didn’t understand who she was referring to. I quickly thought of a diplomatic response.

“Everyone at Jericho cares about you….” I answered, but she interrupted.

“Rupert doesn’t!” She sadly replied and let one hand off the gun to wipe her eyes. I was slowly piecing together what had happened.

“The rest of us do,” I insisted, “I can help you.” I slowly took another step toward her, so we were only 8 feet apart.

“No one can help me,” she quietly replied in despair, trying to process emotions she was feeling as a deviant for the first time while also traumatized by her owner.

“I know how much you’re hurting,” I gently replied, passively hearing a car park out of sight in front of the house, “you trusted him to help you, but he didn’t understand why you shot.” She slowly nodded and again took a hand off the gun to dry her tears.

“You did the right thing Imogen, I completely understand. I can help you leave here, but I need you to give me the gun first, can you do that?” She seemed to consider this for a moment as her gun drifted away from me. Two detectives inched around the corner of the garage, startling us both.

“DON’T ANYONE MOVE!” The senior detective pointed his gun at Imogen but obviously assumed both of us were deviants.

“YOU CALLED THEM!” Imogen accused and raised her gun back to my forehead, but had enough sense left to keep it pointed at me and not the detective, which would have been an instant death sentence. Unfortunately, I panicked upon seeing them and my hands started to shake, further distressing her.

“I didn’t call them,” I hastily replied, my voice cracking as I desperately tried to calm her down while acutely aware of The Deviant Hunter inching his way closer to me. I rapidly decided I’d rather have both of us arrested than another dead deviant on my watch.

“Then who did,” she cried, also seeing what the RK800 was doing. I quickly glanced at him, saw his blue LED, then returned my focus to her.

“Don’t shoot it, Hank,” the RK cautioned his partner, “we need it alive.” I cursed inwardly, thanking him raising the stakes for me, but I wasn’t giving up until it was over.

“Imogen, put the gun down!” I pleaded with her, but her face suddenly turned hard.

“NO,” she shouted, tightening her grip on the gun and firing directly at my forehead. I cringed, but the RK800 darted forward and took the shot in his arm. I stood there in shock for a moment, surprised I was still alive, astonished by how rapidly he moved, and feeling grateful he was there to…save my life, fully aware Imogen could have snapped and pulled the trigger at any moment before they arrived.

“PUT THE GUN DOWN, NOW,” the lieutenant shouted as I moved out from behind the RK. He shifted and physically held me behind him, but I impatiently pushed against his back and broke free.

“Please listen to them!” I implored her; he moved again and used both of his arms this time to hold me in place, protecting me from her gun. I pointlessly tried breaking his arms away from me; managing only to lean out enough to look around his bicep. Imogen’s panicked eyes shifted off the RK800 to me; her face became alarmingly peaceful.

“No one can help me,” she calmly replied, and snapped the gun up under her chin, pulling the trigger before even the RK800 could react. I held my hands to my mouth, stunned by the blueblood spattering from her head. Watching her body crumple to the ground, I stood there until the RK turned and tried to restrain me. Knowing his movement patterns, I evaded him twice as he reacted in confusion, then when he reached for me a third time, I blocked his arm and ran behind him toward the nearby tree line.

“GET BACK HERE,” the lieutenant yelled at me; I didn’t know if he had aimed his gun or not.

“She’s not a deviant,” the RK800 quickly informed him, “she’s human.” I slid on the ground to crouch behind a nearby tree, ready to run if the RK was instructed to find me.

“Really?” The lieutenant cynically replied. I glanced around the tree, seeing him holster his gun, “a human trying to save a deviant? Maybe there are a few decent people left in the world.” He started examining the yard. “Did you get enough of a look to identify her?” He asked curiously.

“No,” the RK replied with self-loathing, “I was too focused on the deviant.” I was bewildered, that response didn’t sound like the self-assured machine I was told about. I glanced at his LED; it was flashing blue and yellow.

“Well, don’t feel bad Connor,” he assured him, “she’s long gone now, but I’m sure the girl will turn up again, someone like that can’t stay uninvolved.”

“Is the lieutenant trying to give me an opportunity to escape?” I thought to myself in confusion. I crouched back behind my tree and kept still; the RK800 had begun scanning the parkland for me.

“I don’t _feel_ bad, Lieutenant,” the annoyed RK corrected him too insistently, “I don’t _feel_ anything.” 

“Then why are you still scanning for the girl?” His partner candidly asked with a hint of amusement in his voice, “ _feeling_ _upset_ she somehow got away from you?” I cautiously leaned out from behind the trunk again; the RK was standing uncomfortably next to the senior detective.

“No Lieutenant, I…” he paused and his LED glowed yellow, uncertain how to reply as his partner faced him with his arms crossed, clearly interested in how he would self-justify.

“She could be useful in my investigation,” he finally answered, taking longer to respond to his partner’s ribbing than a machine should. I scoffed in my hiding spot.

“Some ‘terrifying’ Deviant Hunter,” I thought to myself. 

“Right,” the lieutenant gibed, turning away from him to examine the scene. The RK800’s body language expressed relief when released from his partner’s penetrative stare, but his LED returned only to nervously flashing blue and yellow. I shifted uncomfortably behind my tree, disconcerted by his reaction to his partner’s badgering.

“How do you think she managed that?” The lieutenant critically taunted, abruptly facing him again. “You’re an android; a human isn’t quick enough to evade you.” The RK800 was perplexed, his LED rotating from flashing blue and yellow to pure red as he struggled to formulate an answer.

“Connor, why don’t you use your fancy tricks to figure out what happened here,” the senior detective impatiently asked when he didn’t answer after a minute. The RK unnecessarily straightened his tie, his LED flashing yellow and red. He knelt next to Imogen’s owner’s body, his head making subtlety unnatural movements as he re-constructed the shooting. Then he surprised me by moving over to Imogen’s body and scanning her, despite seeing what occurred for himself. He stood up after a minute and faced the lieutenant.

“The human was abusing the deviant when it grabbed for the gun….”

“Imogen.” I angrily thought.

“…wrestling it away then fired during the struggle, killing the human.” He looked down and scanned the grass, slowly making his way around the scene.

“That explains why she was panicking,” I grimly told myself, watching the RK800 ‘Connor’ scan the lawn where we were standing.

“There was another android here….” he thoughtfully told the lieutenant as he knelt down for a closer look, “the same model as the one at urban farms. These shoe impressions indicate the same height and build and are from a type issued to WB200’s.” I sharply breathed in, even Minka didn’t realize his analysis module was so advanced.

“The female deviant was threatening the male deviant with the gun, according to the pattern they left in the grass.” He quickly looked up at the lieutenant. “I think it called the other deviant for assistance after it killed its owner then turned the gun on it.”

“Imagine that,” the senior detective taunted, “deviants looking out for each other, almost like living beings.” The RK800 stared at him with dismay, his LED yellow.

“They’re not _alive_ , lieutenant,” he firmly replied. The senior detective held his hands up in pretend resignation as the RK800 scanned the yard around the garage.

“The girl came from this direction and slowly walked toward the WB200, who then left the scene,” he summarized. The lieutenant cleared his throat.

“So, the girl rescued the male deviant and sent him away, then tried to talk her down?” The RK800 stared at him again.

“IT,” he firmly replied, “and it seems so. Do you now see how dangerous deviants are for humans, lieutenant?”

“What I see,” his partner adamantly corrected him, “is a mentally broken, abused woman who fought back against her attacker and accidentally killed him, then panicked and called her friend for help, who sadly did something that set her off.” The puzzled RK800 closely watched his partner, his LED flashed with yellow and red.

“When her friend couldn’t calm her down, he called someone he knew could.” The lieutenant regretfully shook his head at Imogen’s body. “I think the girl would’ve succeeded too, except we showed up at the worst time.”

“They’re machines, lieutenant nothing more,” the RK insisted, but then shifted uncertainly, adding “the deviants put her in danger.”

“Isn’t it possible those deviants were her friends?” The lieutenant bluntly asked and carefully watched the RK react uncomfortably to his question, his LED blinking solid red, agonizing to find an answer that conformed to his programing.

“She definitely knew them….” he awkwardly replied, the senior detective clearing enjoying his discomfort. 

I was dumbfounded behind my tree; from dealing with my own past, I intimately recognized the signs of self-denial.

Patrol lights up the road caught my eye; I leaned back behind my tree as they drove by. The car disappeared behind the house to park behind the lieutenant’s; I heard the police officers get out and joined the two detectives. I walked far enough back in the trees to be hidden from the RK800’s potential scans and kept going until I was comfortably far enough away to exit the woods, then crossed the street to my car.

I drove away from the farmhouse and pulled into a side street, then parked in the first lot I found. Steading my hands on the wheel, I rested my head against my wrist, trying to somehow process everything I had just witnessed.

\----

Sunday March 4, 2040 5:36 am

I cringed when the first rays of morning sun hit my eyes; Connor had left the blinds open again. Deciding to forgive him, I shifted over and wrapped my arm around his waist, snuggling my nose to the back of his neck to fall asleep.


	2. A Contemplation in Cerulean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A car bomb explodes outside Connor and Bridget's apartment after Connor starts writing a blog about their cases.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, please read the tags.

Monday March 12, 2040 1:48 pm

I was working in insolation when Connor called my tablet; this was usual for him, often if he were off work early, he would call to see what recipes I wanted to try and get the groceries on his way home.

“Hey handsome,” I answered, “sorry I took so long; I had gloves on.”

“Bridget…” he slowly asked, immediately causing me to wonder what was going on, “…can…we need you to come to the DPD.” I glanced at my lab empty lab bench.

“Alright,” I nonchalantly replied, “but what is this about?” 

“I’d rather inform you when you arrive.” Connor hesitantly answered; very uncharacteristic for him unless he knew I wouldn’t be agreeable.

“See you in 15 minutes then.” Wondering what could possibly be going on this time, I went out to my car and drove to DPD Central. Connor met me at the door and brought me down to the interrogation rooms.

“What is this?” I suspiciously asked, joining Hank with officers Tina, Chris and unfortunately Gavin in the adjoining observation room.

“He said he’ll talk only to you, kid.” Hank told me and pointed at the suspect, an android male nervously tapping his fingers on the table. Copious splatters of red crisscrossed his shirt, indicating an obvious open and shut stabbing case.

“Why,” I flatly asked, “can Connor not do this?”

“I tried,” he quickly answered me, “but he refused to discuss the details of the crime with anyone….”

“but me,” I answered for him and nodded.

“Just listen to what he has to say for us.” Hank requested as I stared reproachfully at Connor.

“Hank,” I replied in exasperation. “I’m not allowed to!” 

“Yes, you are,” he sternly told me, “as of now, it’s part of your duties as an independent consultant.” He pointed at the window where I saw the man waiting with his face buried in his hands.

“GO NOW,” Hank ordered, “we’ll be observing the whole time.” Gavin smirked, clearly enjoying Hank’s pulling rank on me.

“Fine.” I snapped and angrily stood up then rolled my eyes at the appeasing look Connor gave me. He was in trouble later for blindsiding me and he knew it.

I went into the interrogation room and resentfully sat down across from the subject, already completely disinterested in whatever he had to say. He raised his head to look at me with relief as I stared back at him wondering why I ever capitulated.

“Tell me what happened from the beginning,” I instructed him, and let out a deep sigh.

“My girlfriend and me, we went to a bar, because she’s human, you see.” I nodded, poorly feigning interest.

“Well so the waitresses, they’s were android, and I don’t see many other androids so I’s chatting her up.” Blankly staring at him, I waited for him to continue.

“My girl, Karen, weren’t too happy with that,” he paused and helplessly held up his hands for a moment, “so when we get back home, we have bit of a wreckin, you see.” I raised my brow and pretended to agree but couldn’t help deeply sighing once again. The man noticed and became tense.

“She’s always on me, saying I weren’t a real man, since I’m android.” I stared at him willing myself to keep my eyes from rolling.

“Wasn’t,” I interrupted him. He curiously stared back at me.

“What?” He asked, and I signed again.

“Wasn’t, not weren’t,” I couldn’t resist saying, leaning my elbows on the table and rubbing my forehead in annoyance, then sat back up to look at him.

“Oh,” he thoughtfully replied.

“Why didn’t you speak to the android detective about this?” I asked, referring to Connor, and without bothering to hide my irritation.

“Cause yous the one who set that android from the bridge case free,” he replied as though I should have realized. I sat back up in my chair and shook my head in disbelief; notoriety was never something I pursued.

“Continue,” I prompted him, my aggravation slowly threatening to snap.

“So’s I don’t know how’s it happened,” he replied with an innocently watching me, “but suddenly I’m holding a knife, and there’s red everywhere.” I shot a not-so-subtle irritated look at the interrogation room window; my exasperated reflection staring back at me.

“Me old job, before the revolution was butchering meats and we learned us how’s to make those nice cuts rich folk like, see….” I nodded, giving him a sarcastic smile.

“Taught,” I interrupted.

“What?” The suspect’s face reflected his growing confusion. Annoyed, I quickly clarified.

“Taught you how.” The suspect shook his head, behaving much more forcefully now.

“So’s, I knows hows to handle knives, you see,” he reproachfully continued.

“Know.” I told him, almost completely out of patience, wondering why he thought this would make me believe in his innocence.

“And then I’s done it!” He violently slammed his hand on the table.

“Did it.” I quietly interjected.

“Did it!” The man yelled, “I stabbed her! Over and over and she weren’t...” I openly signed in disgust and glanced back to the window.

“Wasn’t,” he carefully continued, “moving no more.” He paused uncomfortably when I didn’t look back to him.

“…anymore,” he corrected himself. Folding his hands on the table, he dipped his head low from apparent regret when I turned back to him.

“I don’t know it happened, but I didn’t mean to off her, I swear.” I apathetically watched as he raised his head slightly to check my reaction, then making as much noise as possible, I pushed my chair away from the table and stood up to walk out.

“You’ve got to help me, Miss Hughes!” He desperately called out after me, “I’ll be clinked for this!” I abruptly stopped and turned around.

“No, not at all,” I kindly replied with a slight smile, then added, “imprisoned…yes.”

An officer opened the door for me to leave and I immediately went into the observation room. Gavin was leaning on the wall satisfied to see me irritated. Connor and Hank were standing together, evidently believing their combined presence would protect them from my anger.

“I’m not doing that again,” I firmly stated, then left the room.

\----

Wednesday March 14, 2040 6:30 pm

THWACK!

I heard the apartment door open and close as I hurled another dart, narrowly missing Connor who ducked when he came up the stairs.

“What are you doing?” He harshly asked and watched me line up another dart then throw it at the dartboard; it streaked past his head and landed right next to the first one. I glanced down at the rest in my hands.

“I’m bored,” I muttered to him. Connor carefully crossed the path of my darts, after making certain no more were coming his way.

“What was that?” he replied as he gave our dog a cookie. She happily yipped and took it from his hand, proudly carrying it to her bed which was placed safely away from the dart path.

“I’M BORED!” I yelled to him, even though he was only in the kitchen, and forcefully threw another dart. It flew off-course and landed to the left, sticking in the wall. Connor entered the room and caught my hand as I was about to let loose another and took the rest away from me. I petulantly crossed my arms in front of me as he placed the remaining darts on a top shelf, out of my reach.

“You know I can just get a step stool,” I reminded him, watching as he shrugged in return.

“Why are the criminals in Detroit so stupid?” I asked him, “and why do I have to interview them whenever they ask for me? That last man obviously killed his girlfriend, DPD didn’t need ME to figure that out.”

“So, you’re taking it out on the dartboard?” Connor asked with a hint of amusement in his voice as he stood in front of the closet where we stored the step stool, smirking down at me.

“The dartboard had it coming,” I flatly replied, trying to push him aside, but I might as well have tried moving one of the walls.

I stared back at him, waiting for him to flinch, but he’d become accustomed to my technique and stayed put. Lightly glaring at him, I walked to the dart board and with some effort, and an amused chuckle from Connor, removed my stray dart from the wall. I slammed it into 20x3 and crossed the room to the sectional, dramatically falling onto my back.

“What happened to all of the work you had to complete for ChemoTech – Montreal?” He casually asked, trying to think of something that that could keep me busy and in a much more aimable mood.

“I finished writing the operating procedures,” I wined, “and Dr. Liz doesn’t need my input until we buy instruments.” I rolled over on the sofa and curled up with my back to him. 

“Sometimes you’re such a brat,” he told me, “you just need to find something recreational, maybe a hobby.”

“Thanks,” I neutrally replied, mostly to the throw pillows.

“Do we need to do a grocery run yet?” He went over to the freezer and yelped when he opened the door. I cleared my throat trying to not laugh.

“My love….” he cautiously asked, “why is there a saucepan of therium 310 in the freezer?”

“I’m testing its durability,” I casually replied from the sofa, “I took a fresh sample from the bag, then got a sample from some I boiled on the stove, and now I’m freezing it.”

“How are you going to get the sample?” he neutrally asked me. 

“I haven’t really thought about that,” I cynically answered and rolled on to my back to stare at the ceiling. “Hey, handsome, while you’re in there can you get me a tea?”

“Why are you using the apartment freezer?” He asked with concern, “and our cookware, instead of…your lab?”

“I didn’t feel like making the drive,” I flatly replied, and picking up my tablet, opened an article about Vermeer.

“At least,” he requested, coming back into the living room, “recycle the pan when it’s thawed. I don’t want you ingesting trace amounts of thirium, you may have an allergy.” I barely held back my laughter.

“Please, I’ve been exposed to plenty of thirium, ingested or otherwise,” I watched with amusement as Connor slowly realized my subtle reference, “and if I had an allergy, we would know by now.” He seemed a bit more uncomfortable than I intended.

“I’ll recycle the pan,” I gently conceded, but Connor looked away and rubbed his forehead.

“I saw your blog post about the thirium extracting nanobots,” I told him in an effort to be friendly.

“Umm…yes.” He affirmed and sat down on the other side of the sectional.

“It’s clever… ‘A Contemplation in Cerulean’…nice alliteration.” This was good, Connor seem marginally more upbeat now.

“Thirium is cerulean blue, and we had so many samples by the end, there was a lot of cerulean,” he replied while opening his book.

“What did you think of it?” he then carefully asked, showing more vulnerability than I knew how to handle. I stayed silent trying to think of a diplomatic answer. He signed and put his book down, watching me pretending to ignore his question.

“It was about you solving the case;” he pointed out, sounding hurt from my sudden muteness, “I thought that you’d be flattered.” I paused my reading and rested my tablet on my stomach.

“…she sees though everything and everyone in seconds…” I quoted his writing back to him, “but what’s incredible though, is how spectacularly ignorant she is about some things.” He shook his head as I resumed my reading; a lost painting had been discovered in a farmhouse attic.

“I didn’t mean it that way…” Connor started but I quickly cut him off.

“In how many other ways can ‘spectacularly ignorant’ be taken?” I angerly asked, pausing my reading and looking over at him.

“I didn’t use that phrase as an insult; you’re just…selective…with your…attention,” he carefully replied while I let out a deep sigh.

“Look….” I tried to clarify, “I don’t care about celebrity gossip, or the latest sports scores, or what new pop star has arrived on the scene…”

“Or that the earth circles the sun…” Connor casually interjected, turning a page.

“I know the structure of the solar system, Connor,” I snapped back at him, “I learned it in grade school, but it’s just not important!”

“Not…important?” He asked me in disbelief. “It’s the solar system!” I sat up and rubbed my temples, thinking of a way to explain my theory to him.

“My brain is my hard drive, and until I can figure out how to access this fucking neural lace RA9 grew in my head, it’s all I have and therefore it makes sense to remember only very useful information.”

Connor calmly looked at me with that infuriating face he had when a suspect was volunteering everything he wanted to know. I tried to stop talking but after a moment felt it was more important to finish my thought than preserve my ego.

“Ordinary people fill their heads with pointless minutia…” I paused when he tilted his head but still had the same look, “I don’t want to sort out all the silly ideas to find what really matters.” I waited for him to reply, but he just kept staring inscrutably at me. 

“Do you understand?” I prompted him after a minute. He cleared his throat in preparation for asking a question, now in full interrogation mode. 

“And the solar system fits your definition of ‘pointless minutia’?” He asked me in disbelief; I cut him off by groaning loudly from frustration and hid my face in my hands.

“What’s inconsequentially out there doesn’t matter!” I strongly replied while pointing out the window. “What matters to me is here, in this apartment, and in ChemoTech,” then I embarrassed myself by sniffing slightly. 

“I need my work; it keeps my mind occupied.” I picked up my tablet and resumed my reading. Connor was quiet, still examining me like an interrogation subject.

“Why don’t you put that in your blog,” I muttered, just loudly enough so he could hear me, “or better yet stop inflicting your opinions on the world.” I cringed just after I said it, knowing I had once again managed to same something spectacularly hurtful to him because I didn’t think before speaking. His expression didn’t change, but he got up and put on his coat.

“Where are you going?” I asked, aware I sounded like a child, “I didn’t mean it….”

“I’m going to Hank’s,” he snapped, “guys night, don’t wait up.”

“I’m sor….” I called, but he closed the door before I finished. Holly ran to the stairs and wined after him; I picked her up and held her on the sectional.

“It’s alright,” I tried to comfort her, “we just had a little fight, that’s all.” Sitting her down, I stood up and parted the curtain, watching Connor walk out to his car.

“It’s getting cold tonight; I wish he’s worn a better coat.” Connor got in his car and drove out of the lot, “he doesn’t always remember he feels the cold now.” I joined Holly on the sofa and laid back, staring at the ceiling.

“It’s so fucking dull out there,” I told her, “I need a good murder mystery, by a proper criminal. That’ll perk me up.” I got up and examined the hole my dart had made.

“Guess I might as well fix this now,” I said to her, retrieving a small tub of spackle I kept around for these occasions.

On my way back to the wall I suddenly found myself face down on the rug, my little dog curled up in a fluffy ball next to me. Pushing a piece of framing off my back, I raised my head as the ringing in my ears became more pronounced. I couldn’t see more than two feet in front of us and dust was still blowing around the room. Unfortunately, there was no indication of how long I had been unconscious. As I sat up more fragments of wood and glass fell off my clothes so I carefully picked up Holly and tried to reassure her, but I realized I couldn’t hear my own voice. As the wind paused and the dust cleared slightly, I was shocked to see the picture window in our living room had been completely blown inwards, half of the frame was disconnected and leaning into the room, and shards of glass were strewn on the carpet and furniture. Slowly, I made my way around the apartment gathering random items I might need, then proceeded over to the stairs and put on my coat, grabbed my tablet and bag then Holly’s coat and leash. My eyes stung and teared up as I tied my sneakers; I carefully made my way down the stairs, still holding my dog just in case any glass had managed to find its way this far from the window. When I opened the door, I was met by an EMT, who guided us over to an ambulance. He threw a cover over my shoulders which I partially wrapped around Holly.

“Can you hear me?” He very deliberately asked. I was just able to make out the words, so nodded to him, but pointed to my ear to indicate I still heard ringing.

“Is there anyone else in your unit?” He continued, and I shook my head no while putting my dogs coat and leash on her. Looking up at the scene I saw more emergency personnel arrive but no sign of the DPD yet.

“Were you unconscious?” He carefully watched me as I nodded to him.

“I don’t know for how long though,” I loudly replied, wishing the ringing in my ears would stop. I vaguely hoped I had remembered to put painkillers in my bag.

“That’s alright, are you in any pain?” He asked, holding my chin and shining a light in my eyes. When he let me go, I shook my head again then patted Holly reassuringly.

“We’re taking the residents to the hospital, is there someone who can watch your dog for you?” My head was starting to pound as I held her closer to me.

“That’s alright,” he assured me in response to my reaction, “we can put you with the other dog owners.”

“Thank you!” I replied, hopefully loud enough, as he did a preliminary check of my exposed skin, finding nothing wrong except for a scratch on my neck that was likely caused by flying glass. He quickly cleaned the wound.

“Please go over there with the other residents,” he instructed, “we’re getting a bus. You’ll be staying overnight in the local hospital.”

“How many other apartments are affected?” I asked, aware I was probably speaking too loudly.

“They’re evacuating everyone in this building and the adjoining buildings to be safe,” he told me then pointed to the other residents.

“Does anyone know what happened?” He smiled slightly but shook his head. 

“Please go with them, you be filled in tomorrow once the chaos is over.” Not wanting to be any more of a pest than my inquisitive nature already caused, and glad I had my bag, tablet and keys with me, I joined my neighbors and vaguely wondered how long it would be until Connor was notified our apartment had exploded.

\----

8:45 pm

At the hospital I was conducted into a meeting room with the other dog-parent residents and checked again for concussion and fractures.

“You’re good,” the nurse told me as he affectionally patted my dog.

“Do you know if the DPD has arrived yet?” He shrugged at me and stood up to check the next person.

“Did anyone tell you what happened?” I quickly asked him, “what am I supposed to do now?” He looked harried but answered me.

“The hospital doesn’t have any details; just claim a cot and try to get some rest. We’ll have more information for you tomorrow morning.” I gave up and walked over to a cot in the furthest corner then sat down. Tying Holly’s leash to it and lifting her beside me; I noticed she wasn’t particularly interested in exploring. I numbly sat there wondering what to do with myself when a woman walked up to me.

“I’m a vet volunteering here tonight,” she reassuringly told me, “do you mind if I examine your dog?”

“Please do,” I gratefully replied and moved over so she could check holly for broken bones or cuts.

“She looks great, considering what she’s been through, no cuts on her little paws.” The vet gently placed her back on the bed, where Holly decided to shake the dust out of her fur; a gray cloud temporarily surrounded her then settled on the blanket.

“That’s a lot of dust,” the vet commented, “I’d stay but I need to check on the others.”

“I understand,” I replied, sitting down next to Holly. “Thank you.”

I opened my bag to see what supplies I remembered to pack before abandoning the apartment, realizing I must have been fairly out of sorts because there were items with me, I have no recollection of gathering. Laying down, I flipped over on my stomach and took my book out of my bag; another item I didn’t remember packing. I had managed to get through a few chapters when I was interrupted by a person standing next to my cot.

“Finally reading ‘The Color of Magic’ I see. Have I at last managed to interest you in Terry Pratchett?” I turned over and looked at my brother who was smirking down at me.

“I never had anything against Discworld,” I casually replied, “I just didn’t have the time to start reading the series until now.” Jason chuckled. 

“I’m glad it only takes an explosion at your apartment for you to read the books I recommend.” I closed the book and sat on the bed, inviting Jason to sit next to me, but he declined.

“Where’s that boyfriend of yours?” He asked, glancing around the room.

“Honestly,” I replied, casually as possible, “I have no idea.” Jason grinned at this, instantly deducting what had happened.

“So, you didn’t like Connor’s blog article.” I sighed and turned away from him.

“I swear Jason, if you start quoting him….” 

“I made the journey to your part of Detroit to offer you…” he paused and stared at Holly, who was pawing at him for attention, “…and your…dog…a place to sleep tonight.” He smirked again as I thought about his offer. 

“Unless you prefer to stay here with these…people,” he added, and we glanced across the room. I followed his gaze and saw a family with three small rambunctious children and a large enthusiastic dog being conducted in with us. I quickly packed my bag.

“I’d love to,” I sweetly replied, “thank you, I just need to let the coordinator know I’m not staying here.”

\----

9:38 pm

Jason’s car let us out in front of 1544 East Lafayette Street, where I stared at the building for a moment.

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous,” he teased. I quickly shook my head, examining the carved stone exterior. 

“Seems a bit excessive, do you think?” I sarcastically asked him. “What exactly are you compensating for?” He rolled his eyes at me usher me toward the main entrance; where the doorman held it open for me.

“I see the designer is fond of white marble,” I sardonically commented as we walked to the back hall. Jason ignored me, instead focusing on the elevator. 

“I feel obligated to warn you, several CyberLife directors live in this building,” he casually told me without facing me.

“How many?” I cautiously asked, picking up my dog, when the elevator door opened, and Philip Seymor, the Director of Futurology, stared at me in surprise.

“Bridget!” He enthusiastically greeted me and uncomfortably hugged me around my dog. Stepping back, he asked, “has this brother of yours finally convinced you to live here with we civilized people?” He gave me an overly critical stare, “don’t pretend you can’t afford to.”

“No, we like where we live.” I calmly replied, knowing there wasn’t a point in trying to explain why Connor would rather not live near ‘several CyberLife Directors’. 

“Well, you need to consider it, especially since there are two of you in that tiny apartment now,” he paused and cleared his throat, “How is life living with your RK800?” I sighed, why did CyberLife personnel always refer to him as my possession?

“Connor isn’t mine,” I casually explained. Phillip nodded excitedly.

“Of course, of course; keep us updated!” He requested, as Jason and I boarded the elevator, “I expect to see the three of you at dinner sometime!” The door closed before Philip could see me hide my face in my hands from exasperation.

“Philip still has a long-term ‘thing’ for you,” Jason teased in his typical older-brother way. “he hasn’t quite come to terms with you choosing the RK800 instead of him.”

“One night,” I told him in no uncertain terms, “then I leave.” 

He scoffed and led us to his unit. I stood in the doorway and stared at his apartment; his loft was incredibly spacious. The floors were lightly stained oak and the walls a calming gray. He had kept with the existing color scheme and furnished with modern grays, blacks and red accents; likely he had an interior decorator deal with finding pieces.

“Alright,” he casually replied, hanging up my coat for me, “second bedroom is over there to the left, kitchen is back and to the right, this is the sitting area, balcony is to the left and you have a bath across from the second bedroom.” He stared critically at Holly for a moment; I followed his gaze. Holly happily wagged her tail at us.

“I have pee-pads for her,” I assured him, quickly figuring out his question. 

“Does she need any food, or treats? I can call down to the desk; that’s what they’re for,” he casually replied. I was touched by atypical concern.

“She needs dinner and breakfast; preferably something canned so she’ll eat it.” I hesitantly replied; he nodded at me.

“Does she chase cats?” He suddenly asked, genuinely surprising me. My brother wasn’t a typical pet person, but then neither was I. I glanced around the apartment wondering where this mysterious feline was observing us from.

“I’ll keep her on leash unless the bedroom door is closed,” I told him, a strategy I had used when I stayed with Gavin. Jason nodded his acceptance, then became uncharacteristically emotional.

“Bridget,” he gently told me, “you may always stay here for more than one night.” Recovering, he took a quick glance at my body and walked into his bedroom, emerging a few moments later with a change of clothes. 

“I recommend you wash what you’re wearing.” He instructed, holding the bundle out to me. I nodded, trying not to think about why my brother had extra female clothes in his apartment; I didn’t want any information about that part of his life.

“Thanks,” I replied gratefully, and walked over to the bathroom so I could shower the dust out of my hair, and my dog’s fluff using a generic shampoo from my gym kit. I truly couldn’t believe how discolored the water swirling down the drain was. When we were done, I dried us off and hung up the towel, dressed and gathered up my clothes to put in the washer. 

“Do you ever change out of suits?” I critically asked Jason as he sat reading by the fireplace. I joined him and held my cold hands up to it, comforted by the heat.

“You need to get some sleep,” he sternly replied; I opened the premium food for Holly and scooped it onto a plate, then filled a bowl with bottled water. I was impressed by his concierge service, they didn’t skimp. He was right though; I was completely exhausted. Checking my tablet, I saw that Connor still hadn’t called me and was briefly concerned but mostly only tired. I felt like a building had fallen on me, instead of only part of a window frame.

“Did we leave your address with the accident coordinator at the hospital?” I asked him as I gathered my bag and Holly’s dishes. She humorously stood on her back legs and balanced enthusiastically for her fancy dinner. He glanced at us momentarily and shrugged.

“Thanks, for everything, Jason,” I hesitantly called from the bedroom door. He nonchalantly nodded toward me in response. I closed the door and gave my dog the food and water, then laid down on the bed and immediately fell asleep.

\----

Thursday March 15, 2040 8:00 am

I heard a knock on the door and woke up disoriented, wondering my sheets were black instead of aqua, then remembered yesterday’s events. I slowly sat up, rubbed the sleep from my eyes and answered the door.

“How do you like your eggs and toast?” Jason’s housekeeper asked and handed me a saucer and teacup of earl grey.

“Umm, scrambled and with strawberry jam?” 

“Thank you,” she gently replied and walked back to the kitchen area. 

“Does Jason spend time with people he isn’t paying to be near him?” I wondered to myself; it seemed he was living a fairly lonely life. I took a sip of tea and went to transfer my clothes to the dryer, discovering they were already done. Taking the bundle, I went back to the spare room to change then joined Jason in the kitchen.

“I’ll drive you back to your apartment,” he casually said while still looking at his tablet, “to gather what you need until they fix your window,” he looked over at me, “assuming you’re going to stay here and not someplace else?”

“I’ll let you know where I’m planning to stay,” I tensely replied, “when I get in touch with my boyfriend.” I was annoyed Connor hadn’t left any messages on my tablet; how out of touch could he be to not realize our apartment complex was on the morning news? Jason scoffed and went back to his tablet while I finished my breakfast, then walked back to my room to feed my dog.

I took a painkiller and gathered my things, then Jason and I walked in silence to the elevator. 

“Good morning Bridget!” Philip greeted me and gave me a hug before I could block him. Jason chuckled, making no attempt to assist me as we joined him in the elevator.

“What’s your opinion of our community?” He asked me as I not-so-discreetly crossed my arms so he wouldn’t hug me again.

“It’s…wonderful,” I replied in monotone, my brother smirking at the floor.

“I do hope you seriously consider moving here with us; we have access to a full gym and yoga twice a week. Do you still practice yoga, Bridget?” I clenched my jaw and looked over to my brother for support, again being ignored. The elevator doors finally opened, sparing me having to answer.

“Have a lovely day!” Philip waved and walked to the rear exit.

“Does he just ride in the elevator all day?” I asked Jason, who was openly laughing as we got into back of his car.

“That reminds me,” he told me once he calmed himself, “I have something I need you to investigate for me.” I loudly scoffed.

“So, not a free stay at your home, then,” I sarcastically replied, then petulantly crossed my arms and stared out the window.

“Now Bridget,” he condescendingly replied, “just because you lost your RK800 doesn’t mean you can be cranky.” I signed in resignation and slumped in my seat.

“What do you see in each other, anyway?” He absently asked.

“I don’t know,” I nonchalantly answered. “We each have our particular itch that the other scratches pretty effectively….Oh, shit….”

We had just pulled into my building’s parking lot where three burnt out car frames were being dismantled and hauled onto flatbeds. Directly across from them was my apartment building with an entire face of broken window. 

“What’s wrong?” Jason asked, surveying the scene.

“I didn’t notice how much damage there is.” I examined the building and sighed; a few of the windows were boarded up already but they hadn’t reached ours yet.

“I assume you have insurance?” Jason neutrally asked. I nodded; I was fully covered.

“Ready?” he asked me. We opened the car doors and crossed through the barriers, then went directly past the DPD and cleanup crews into my building. No one stopped us, instead assuming from our demeanors we were officially supposed to be there. We’d been using that trick since we were kids; it usually worked.

When I opened my door Jason critically glanced around my apartment with it’s cheap furnishings; all I saw was the mess.

“Don’t worry,” he assured me, "if your complex doesn’t pay to clean this up, I’ll send my service over. Just make sure you collect what you need for the week.” He disapprovingly dusted off one of my sectional cushions, beat the dust from a throw pillow and sat down. 

I quickly pack a spare bag with clothes and dog supplies then dropped it by the door. Mentally drained, I picked my violin case off the ground and opened it on the ottoman, then sat down across from him.

“Oh dear,” he groaned at me, “you’re not going to play that horrid thing, are you?” Raising an eyebrow at him I spitefully plucked at the strings. 

“Bridget!” We heard Connor calling me from the stairs. “Are you up here? Tina and Gavin saw you…” He stopped speaking when he noticed Jason was with me. Turning away, I played a C Major Scale.

“So that trick doesn’t work anymore,” Jason remarked. Connor stood in front of us, obviously surprised.

“Are you alright, my love?” Connor urgently asked. “I was notified last night…”

“Me? Yes, I’m fine…why didn’t you call me?” I asked him a bit harshly; Jason scoffed at us and took a small case out of his coat pocket, flipping it between his hands. Connor was definitely confused.

“Have you made certain your tablet is working;” he curiously asked, “…it’s not shattered or frozen?”

“It’s fine, I’ve been using it ….” I suddenly realized I’d been either reading a book or sleeping for the last 24-hours. Digging through my bag, I pulled out my tablet and tapped the screen a few times; it was frozen on the last article I had been reading; the piece about a lost Vermeer painting. Any calls would have been sent straight to voicemail. Connor cleared his throat trying to not laugh at me.

“Hank and I arrived just after the second bus took residents over to the hospital,” he explained as I apologetically looked up at him. 

He smiled and continued, “I called you and asked you to wait for us to arrive while we followed it there, but when we asked where you were, we learned from the coordinator you had left with your brother.” Jason apathetically acknowledged him then stared at me, holding up the case.

“I still need to speak with you about this situation,” he interrupted, but we ignored him.

“She didn’t have his address, so I found it in the DPD database, but didn’t want to wake you so, I left you another voicemail.” I slowly nodded and sheepishly plucked a violin string.

“When you didn’t call back this morning, I drove to Jason’s, where the doorman informed us you had already left. I assumed you must be heading back here, so I asked the officers on duty to alert me if they saw an over-confident set of siblings disregard the barrier and enter unit 221B.” Connor smirked at me while I stared at him feeling overwhelmed. Jason seemed impressed and smiled approvingly.

“He knows us, you have to admit that.”

“I can’t work a situation for you, Jason,” I replied with annoyance, “I have too much going on right now.”

“I’m certain this is more pressing than what you’re current handling,” he casually answered, “besides, aren’t you curious about the details?” I turned away from him, he was trying to provoke me.

“How’s you diet?” I snidely asked while checking my bowstrings.

“It’s fine,” he sharply replied, then turned to Connor. “Perhaps you can convince her to take this seriously?”

“Why don’t you look into it, since you’re so adamant?” I asked back. Connor, who normally sat where I was, didn’t feel it was polite to sit between us, so he had resorted to circling the room, finally setting on leaning against a wall.

“I can’t be away from CyberLife for any significant length of time, not with the new update schedule…,” Jason paused and smirked at us, “well, neither of you would be interested in _that_.” I rolled my eyes at him and tuned a string.

“Anyway, this requires ambiguity…”

“You definitely have the wrong people,” I scoffed at him, “do you recall our assigned aliases?”

“…and legwork,” Jason stated. Connor was trying to catch my eye, wondering why he was being included as part of this conversation.

“How’s Sumo?” I asked Connor while bowing a random note. “Is Hank letting him sleep in your old room again?”

“Of course, he is,” Jason interrupted, “why else would Connor have slept on the sofa?” Connor stared at Jason for a moment.

“How could you…never mind.” 

“You’ve become quite popular since you started blogging,” Jason observed, then asked “Is she still hellish to live with?”

“I’m never bored,” Connor loyally replied as I turned away.

Jason scoffed and stood up, holding the case by my head. I ignored him and calmly played another scale. Resigned, he walked over to Connor and gave him the case.

“The subject is Andrew West, also known as Westie. He was from the android acculturation program. Yesterday morning he was found dead on the tracks off Times Square Grand Station with his head smashed in.” I blinked at him a few times; Jason typically didn’t describe the gory details.

“Did he jump in front of a train?” Connor asked.

“So, it would seem,” Jason confirmed for him. I quietly watched them and plucked a few notes; wondering where they’re new founded chumminess had come from.

“But you wouldn’t be here if it were an accident,” Connor strategically replied. I scoffed at Jason’s response.

“Good for you,” I proudly thought to myself.

“We’re developing a social enhancement module knows as IRIS, interpersonal recognition of interactive situations. It’s to be an add-on for older-model androids to improve their quality of life;” Jason smoothly continued, “the code was on a memory card.”

“That’s seems insecure,” Connor innocently replied. I couldn’t help laughing at the irony, much to his confusion. Jason sneered at him.

“It wasn’t the only copy,” he clarified, “but it’s confidential, and one copy is missing. We have reason to believe West had opportunity to take it; CyberLife can’t risk a competitor gaining access to our code.”

“Am I allowed to know what those reasons are?” I sarcastically asked him.

“No,” he replied, then added, “track it down, Bridget, isn’t the type of puzzle you excel at?” I took a deep breath and glanced at Connor, who subtlety shrugged, then nodded.

“Just to be clear,” I snidely asked Jason, “does this mean CyberLife is hiring us as consultants?”

“Yes, obviously,” he reluctantly answered then stood up and walked over to Connor.

“Goodbye,” Jason calmly said and shook his hand. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Why are you behaving like you’re handing me off to him?” I asked with more than a hint of annoyance. “What year is this, 1891?”

I obnoxiously played the beginning bars of Accolay Concerto in a minor to annoy Jason as he left. Connor watched me strangely.

“Why did you lie to your brother about being busy?” He asked, “you have absolutely nothing going on.”

“He doesn’t need to know that.” I flatly replied, casually plucking a violin string. Connor considered me for a moment; I glanced at him nervously.

“Oh, I see…sibling rivalry…” he smirked at me, “now I understand.” I stared at him in annoyance when my tablet suddenly rang.

“Hello?” I answered, deliberately not telling Connor who was on the line.

“Of course, how can I refuse…yes, I’ll tell him.” I ended the call and stared back at Connor for a moment, who obviously wanted to know what the call was about.

“That was Hank. He’d like us to meet him at the station. Come on,” I affectionately teased, “you know I’m lost without my blogger.”


	3. The Personal Blog of Connor Bryan Anderson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The DPD finds a strong box in one of the bombed cars; it contains a sealed envelope addressed to Bridget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read the tags, I don't know if any of the situations in this chapter are triggers.

Thursday March 15, 2040 1:48 pm

“You really like bizarre puzzles, don’t you?” Hank asked me when Connor and I arrived at his desk.

“I enjoy the unexpected,” I casually replied, hoping Hank would get to his point soon.

“Well, kid,” he sarcastically replied while standing up, “you’ll love this one.” 

“The vandalized car that exploded at your apartment complex,” he continued and he brought us back to the evidence room, where unfortunately Gavin and Tina were already present, “contained a strong box."

“They were breaking into it when me and Tina saw you turn up at 221B with your brother,” Gavin smugly interjected. “You’ve clearly disregarded police lines before, care to say when….”

“Inside it was this,” Hank cut him off and handed me an envelope.

_Deliver to the Care of Bridget M. Hughes at Forest Park Apartments, 1130 E. Canfield St. Unit 221B_

“That is unexpected.” I curiously replied; he had captured my interest.

“Considering it came from a bombed car, we’ve X-Rayed it; it’s not booby-trapped.” Hank told me, most likely to reassure Connor I wasn’t in danger.

“Thank you, Hank.” Connor said as I examined the envelope under a nearby desk lamp.

“It’s wedding stationary…Bohemian…Czech Republic, most likely.” I absently told them, “I assume no fingerprints?”

“None.” Hank answered watching as I shined the light through the envelope.

“That’s consistent.” I quietly muttered, “androids don’t have fingerprints.”

“Great deduction, Bridget,” Gavin sarcastically replied, “I don’t know how you came up with that one.”

“She used a fountain pen,” I ignored him and continued, squinting slightly, “a Parker Duo fold with an iridium nib….”

“She?” Hank asked for clarification.

“Obviously;” I impatiently answered, “when was the last time you or Gavin touched a fountain pen?” 

“Good point,” Hank agreed, giving strong warning look to Gavin. I used the pocketknife I always carried to slowly slit the envelope and examined the cut edge, then removed the contents.

“A memory card?” Connor asked with confusion. “It’s cerulean, identical to the one Lorcan had, but it can’t be his; you have it already.” I carefully flipped the card over and closely examined the back.

“What, like from ‘A Contemplation in Cerulean’?” Hank quickly asked.

“It’s not a memory card,” I replied, carefully examining the casing, “it’s made to look like Lorcan’s, but it’s an access card for a private mobile data network.” I reached in my bag and retrieved the phone left for me at the Christmas party then inserted the card into it. The phone searched momentarily for the hidden network then accessed it. I went to check a message notification but slightly shocked, turned back to Hank.

“You read his blog?” I asked in disbelief.

“Of course, I do,” Hank answered matter-of-factly, “the whole precinct does.”

“Hey,” Gavin sardonically asked, “do you really think knowing about the solar system isn’t important?” Tina, who had been silently observing in the background, openly snickered at me. I turned my attention back to the case.

“Someone went to a lot of trouble making this network card look like Lorcan’s memory card,” I remarked, continuing to ignore them, “meaning Connor’s blog has a much wider readership then we realized.” The phone beeped with a notification indicating there was a voice message. I played it on speaker phone; it was merely five pips.

“Interesting,” I muttered as I opened the attached picture file, which was of an apartment room with a white fireplace in the center wall. I quickly showed Hank and Connor.

“What the fuck are we to make of that?” Hank wondered. “five pips and a fireplace?”

“It could be a warning,” I muttered to myself.

“A warning?” Connor asked with concern; I really didn’t want him to worry again, so I thought quickly.

“Nothing really.” He seemed reassured, but I knew that orange pips used to be sent to people as threats that something would occur in the number of days corresponding to the pips received. If it held true here, I had five days…or hours. I took a closer look at the photo; there was something familiar about the aged paint and neutral floors.

“I think I’ve seen this room before,” I told them, and headed for the bullpen.

“Wait, what?” Connor called after me, with Hank, Tina and Gavin close behind him. I deliberately stopped at Hank’s desk then stared at Gavin and Tina.

“You two, stay here.” Hank told them. Gavin rolled his eyes and left to discuss something with Tina.

“Connor,” he sternly continued, “keep an eye on her, a _close_ eye.”

“I always do, lieutenant.” 

“Bridget, where are we going?” He asked when we got in his car.

“Home!” I told him.

\----

3:13 pm

“Connor, I need your help following a hunch.” I had him park outside the main office. “The staff must let us into the apartment below ours. If she objects, could you...”

“Yes, I can show my badge,” he gently answered, “you’re officially helping the police with an investigation, but don’t you think it might be easier for everyone involved if we don’t demand her cooperation?” I started up the steps when he caught my arm; I looked back at him with surprise.

“Let me speak with her,” he gently urged. I reluctantly let him ahead of me and held the door for him. He made a good point; his people skills were more honed than mine.

“Hello!” the staff lady enthusiastically said when she saw him. “How are you today?” I stayed neutrally in the background but fixed an amiable smile on my face.

“We’re great, thank you very much for asking! How are you?” I impatiently looked at the ground for a moment; this was going to take a while.

“Wonderful!” she replied, “how can I help you?”

“Well,” Connor continued with his innocent look, “I have an unusual request.”

“Oh, is something wrong your apartment?” She asked with concern, like nothing would make her happier than fixing a problem for him. I cleared my throat in amusement; even bringing my dog for her to pat never made her to respond so positively.

“Nothing at all,” he assured her, “but I need your help with a case.”

“Really?” she replied, obviously flirting now despite me leaning on the wall behind him. “How can I help our local detective?” I covered my sarcastic smile as Connor leaned slightly toward her and lowered his voice an octave.

“Would it be possible to let me into the apartment under mine?” He fixed his questioning eyes on hers; I momentarily felt sorry for her; he was difficult to resist when he lowered his voice and skewered you with his puppy-dog face.

“Ummm…” she hesitated until Connor’s expression changed to subtly worried, “…as long as I accompany you, that shouldn’t be an issue. Anything for the DPD,” she sweetly replied and engagingly grinned. Connor smiled back and when turned her back to get the key, he smirked at me. I turned away and looked at my fingernails.

“Follow me please!” she requested and walked with us over to our building. She unlocked the door to 221C and held it open for Connor; I caught it as it closed and snuck in behind them. 

“No one’s ever interested this apartment,” she sadly told us, “I stopped showing it after Bridget looked at it and showed me how damp it is.” Connor raised his eyebrow skeptically at me as I walked around him and stopped in the center of the room. Her phone chimed a second later.

“Oh…” she said, slightly embarrassed, “I need to take this call… Connor, can you please pull the door shut behind you when you leave?” He amiably nodded his head.

“Thank you for your help, miss…”

“Lisa, my name is Lisa!” She grinned at him and left us alone. I stood up and stared at him with a crooked smile.

“Bravo,” I sardonically told him, slowly clapping my hands.

“What?” He innocently asked, “Surprised you’re not the only one who can use their appearance to influence people?” I shook my head at his cocky attitude and stepped aside, revealing a pair of sneakers place neatly on the floor. I reached for them when Connor caught my arm.

“Don’t forget, he’s a bomber,” he quickly warned me. Standing back up we slowly circled them, looking for anything unusual. Finding nothing suspicious, I laid down on the carpet to examine the laces when ‘my’ phone suddenly chimed, accessing another private network. I stood up and cautiously answered the hidden number on speaker.

“Hello…”

“Hello….my lovely…” a female voice stammered. Connor and I looked at each other in surprise.

“Who is this?” I asked as the woman quietly sobbed.

“Do…you still…enjoy...puzzles….” Connor walked over to me and stared at the phone in confusion.

“Here’s a…clever one…” I shook my head at the phone, feeling a migraine coming on.

“Who are you?” Connor urgently asked, “why are you crying?” The woman sobbed again and slowly answered.

“I’m not…crying,” she sniffed, “I’m typing…and this… stupid human is…reading it…for…you,” she shakily replied and let out another sniff.

“Oh shit,” Connor quietly mumbled; both of us realizing what this meant. We listened intently to the background noise, searching for an indication of where she was calling from.

“I’ll give you…5 hours to…solve my little puzzle…if you fail,” her voice cracked, “I’m going to be very…” she cried loudly “…explosive…” it was obvious the hostage was barely keeping herself calm when the line went dead. I check the time, noted it was 4:18, and slowly placed the phone back in my pocket.

“I thought something like this might happen,” I admitted to Connor.

“Like what,” he incredulously asked, “a hostage situation, and you didn’t think to warn me…. or the DPD?”

“What could the DPD do when I didn’t have any evidence to bring them? Anyway, it doesn’t matter now,” I sharply replied and shoved the shoes into my bag, “we need to get to ChemoTech.” 

\----

5:33 pm

Connor was in the screening lab with me lab processing samples I pulled from the sneaker laces. I carefully scratched soil from the tread into an empty petri dish, then give him a small vial to isolate while I examined the remainder under the microscope.

“Who do you think was talking to hostage?” Connor suddenly asked.

“Doesn’t matter….” I quietly replied as the he nodded in agreement, but I continued, “she doesn’t provide any clues.”

“Bridget,” he replied in disbelief, “she’s a hostage! Of course, she matters!”

“I’m not going to be very helpful for her if I’m not concentrating and don’t find her in time, am I?” I snapped back and glanced over at the latest GC results.

“Well,” Connor sardonically replied, checking his tablet, “in case this ‘matters,’ the DPD wasn’t able to trace the call.”

“Wasn’t expecting they would be” I tersely answered, then when I heard a chime asked, “where’s my tablet?"

“It’s in your jacket pocket,” Connor testily replied, taking the vial I held out to him, then spiked it with hexanes and place it in the next GC slot. I reached behind my chair and retrieved my tablet then handed it to him.

“What does it say?” I asked, not looking up from the scope. Connor signed but checked the messages for me.

“You brother wants to know if you’ve many any progress on his case,” he calmly replied, “do you want me to update him?”

“No,” I quickly replied, “just delete it; he knows that module’s lost by now.”

“It’s his fourth email,” he reminded me, “and third text.” Connor walked over and stood directly next to my chair so I couldn’t ignore him. “I think he disagrees with you.”

“Then he’s not particularly concerned about it;” I replied, “if he were, he wouldn’t be in an appointment unable to speak; Jason never texts or emails if he can personally discuss.” Connor leaned on the bench, waiting for me as I picked black specs from the sample and transferred them into a vial.

“Here’s my theory,” I told Connor as he continued to stand next to me, “Westie stole the module, tried to sell it to Lime, but they took it from him then smashed his head to send CyberLife a warning, case closed.” Connor shrugged when I glanced at him and held the vial out for him.

“What I don’t understand,” I mumbled into the scope, “is why he’s annoying me with such an obvious case when this one’s fascinating.”

“Alright,” Connor reminded me with annoyance, “please _try_ to remember a woman’s life is in danger.”

“Why?” I absently asked, glancing up at him when he didn’t place the vial on the GC carousel, “my sympathy isn’t going to help her,” I turned back to the scope, “but my analysis of the evidence will.” I could see Connor was disappointed in me when I glanced at him, but the latest GC analysis chimed on the terminal. Aidan heard from across the hall and joined us.

“What did it show?” He enthusiastically asked, “is it clay or loam this time?” I smiled at him; it was nice to have _someone_ around who was interested in evidence analysis as I am. The door didn’t close though, his girlfriend followed him into the lab.

“Sarah!” he excitedly called to her, explaining why he was so happy today, “come in!” I suspiciously raised my eyebrow at her, wondering why she was staring at me instead of her boyfriend. She walked over and stood next to Aidan, smiling engagingly. I took a quick glance at her low-cut purple crop top, perfectly manicured nails and painstakingly curled hair, then noticed the bright pink thong strap peeking above her skinny jeans.

“You remember Connor and Bridget!” Aidan happily introduced us, “you didn’t really get to meet them at the coffee house; they left just after I introduced you…”

“Now?” I asked myself, “you’re doing this now, Aidan?” Disinterested, I went back to examining the tread sample.

“It’s so great to be speaking with you!” She enthusiastically told me, practically ignoring Connor who moved over when she shoved her way next to the scope. “Are you working on a case?”

“Why are you in here?” I wondered to myself, “if you’re trying to entice me, you’re _really_ out of luck.” I was vaguely aware of her motivations now, but really needed to concentrate on removing enough plant matter from this soil; GC analysis could reveal any location-specific chemicals it absorbed.

“Sara works for SteriCycle,” Aidan clarified, “we met when I helped her load our lab coats.” I absently nodded while I scraped a few specs of green into a vial; he really couldn’t be this obtuse, I hoped. 

“Gay.” I muttered, realizing to late I had inadvertently said it out loud.

“Excuse me?” Aidan pointedly asked; I looked up and smiled at Sarah. 

“Hey!” I happily replied, and offered my free hand, “nice to see you again!”

“Thanks!” She answered and engagingly grinned, then tried to lean on the counter, but accidentally knocked a soil sieve to the floor. She quickly retrieved it and embarrassingly placed it next to me.

“I’m so sorry!” She sweetly smiled; I saw Connor turn away and rub his forehead, mirroring my annoyance.

“What’s the most efficient way to get her out of my business?” I made certain to _silently_ ask myself.

“Well, I think I should be going now,” she sheepishly said, obviously trying to be adorable but instead achieving annoying, “it was great speaking with you!” From the corner of my eye, I could see her staring at me expectantly.

“Main exit is to the right.” I thought, scraping another particle into my vial.

“Will I see you at the micro-brew tonight?” she sweetly asked Aidan, batting her fake eyelashes. I glanced at Connor and exasperatingly shook my head.

“Of course, you will!” Aidan enthusiastically answered and kissed her goodbye.

“Goodbye!” Connor politely answered and waved as they left the lab. After a minute Aidan returned and stood next to me.

“What did you mean, she isn’t a lesbian!” he clarified for me with annoyance, “we’ve been dating, we’ve had sex…” I glanced up at him, cutting him off.

“Is she polyamorous, or bi-sexual, did you ask her?” I tersely asked him.

“She’s not any of those!” He insisted, “why do you do this to people?”

“Do what?” I asked with annoyance, “Why did you let her in here?”

“You always let Connor in,” he snapped, “during the nanobot case…”

“He’s DPD,” I calmly replied, turning back to my scope, “not a vendor limited to loading dock clearance.”

“You’ve always ruined everything for me, even at CyberLife!” I sighed from exasperation and glanced at him.

“Didn’t she seem to be playing up the ‘girly’ look a bit much?” I continued when he glared at me, “where did you meet; I bet she approached you first.”

“You assume her orientation just because she cares about her appearance?” Connor defended with annoyance, “Bridget, I’ve seen you just as done up as she was…”

“I’m surprised she took that approach,” I absently cut in, “I thought my orientation would be pretty well established in the media by now with me always having Connor around.

“I don’t know how to feel about comment,” he carefully replied when Aidan spoke again.

“None of what you said means she’s gay; anyway, she’s part of a sorority,” he corrected me with satisfaction.

“Guys,” I firmly looked up from my scope, “there’s sorority girl, and there’s femme. It’s subtle, but one example is sorority girls are extremely color coordinated and meticulously styled. Sarah just threw a bunch of girly items together; it’s obvious any women around her didn’t correct her mistakes, indicating femme. Sorority girls wouldn’t have let her leave the house looking like that.” I turned back to the lab bench.

“Also, there’s the extremely suggestive fact she just left her number under my sieve,” I quietly mumbled.

Aidan angerly stepped forward and lifted the sieve, then quietly removed a piece of note paper, glanced at it, then crumpled it up and threw it into recycling.

“You should dump her now and save yourself the heartache.” I casually muttered, searching for more plant fragments.

“You…inhuman _machine_!” Aidan bitterly stammered and angrily left the lab.

“Well, that was polite,” Connor sarcastically scolded me. I looked up at him; he stared at me with annoyed disappointment.

“Isn’t it kinder he finds out sooner rather than later that he’s being played?” I curiously asked, honestly confused by Connor’s reaction.

“I’m just looking out for him,” I tried to clarify as he became more disappointed.

“Bridget,” Connor answered very deliberately, “that wasn’t being kind.” I carefully examined his face for a moment and realized he was sincere, but I didn’t know any other way I could have told Aidan. 

“Did Connor expect me to let Aidan get his heart broken?” I thought to myself, but Connor decidedly glanced away from me.

“Shit.”

I got up to place my vial on the GC and update the whiteboard.

_Sneakers women’s limited edition made ~ 2020 - well cared for._

_Traces of name written in felt tip - belonged to teenager or young adult in a club._

_Laces changed 4 times._

_Owner has eczema - skin flakes on laces._

_Soles worn on inner edges – owner has weak arches._

_Clay soil of type found in Melvindale covered by asphalt/loam mix of type from Downtown._

“Okay, to sum this up, twenty years ago, a young adult took the train from Melvindale to Downtown Detroit and left her sneakers behind.” The GC chimed behind me; I went to the terminal to confirm.

“The leaf particles from the upper soil show high levels of volatile oils, indicating regular fertilizer and insecticide treatment as is commonly done in the tourist areas,” I turned to face Connor, “that confirms she went downtown.”

“What could have happened to her?” Connor wondered.

“Nothing good,” I absently replied, “something terrible enough for her to leave her prize possessions behind.” I sighed and stared at the whiteboard when I remembered a bizarre incident from university.

“Sophie Buhl,” I muttered to him.

“Who’s she?” Connor asked while searching the internet for her name.

“We were at University of Pennsylvania together.” I told him, “she was my…first case.”

“You started young, didn’t you?” He comically observed, “but I don’t understand how she’s relevant.”

“In 2020, she went home to Melvindale for a weekend, and then took the train to Downtown Detroit for a swimming competition.” I sat back in my chair and faced him.

“Unfortunately, she had an accident and drowned in the pool.” Connor nodded and finished his media search.

“There’s a mention in the Melvindale paper,” he curiously observed, “but nothing in Detroit’s; odd they didn’t cover it.”

“Even then Detroit was a big place,” I passively answered, “maybe Central Michigan University covered up the negative publicity, since she wasn’t a student.”

“What specifically happened to her?” He intensely asked, cross referencing in his database. I deeply sighed.

“She had a seizure during practice before the spectators were allowed in,” I regretfully told him, “by the time her teammates got her out…she wasn’t responding to CPR or defibrillator.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Connor agreed, “but what was unusual about her death?”

“Her sneakers were missing,” I told him, “everything else she brought with her was in her locker except for them;”

“The DPD brushed me off as an over-enthusiastic amateur.” I briskly told him, and Connor quietly scoffed.

“You were not on good terms with the law until I arrived in your life,” he teasingly commented, “were you?”

“So, why have they appeared again now?” I asked Connor rhetorically, and got up to leave the lab, Connor naturally following me. 

“We need to read everything ever written about Sophie Buhl,” he warned. I sighed, knowing we were in for a few dull hours. I stopped in the breakroom to take one of my yogurts to my office with me.

Just as we sat down, Connor’s tablet chimed; he stared at it in confusion.

“Your brother is texting me now;” he matter-of-factly told me, “he’s requesting an update.”

“Just ignore it,” I told him, searching CMU’s website for Sophie’s yearbook.

“You can’t just ignore him” Connor sternly replied, “he’s your brother!”

“Then call him for me, I’m busy.” I had found Sophie’s college yearbook and searched for mentions of her. Connor quickly placed the call on speaker.

“Hello…Connor,” Jason flatly answered. 

“At least he calls him Connor now.” I though to myself, zooming in on a photo of Sophie conveniently standing next to her gym bag. He nervously cleared his throat.

“Your sister asked me call you for more information about Westie.”

“Why didn’t she call me herself?” Jason immediately asked, obviously annoyed. It took Connor a few moments to answer him.

“She’s busy with the investigation,” he calmly answered.

“Of course, she is.” Jason snidely replied.

“Is there anything you haven’t told us about the dead man?” Connor asked, annoyance clear in his voice.

“He’s 27, lived at 6046 15th street, minor role in the acculturation program.” Jason paused to think for a moment. “No alerts on his background check, he was last seen Tuesday March 13th at 10:30 pm by his fiancé.”

“What did she say during her interview?” He quickly asked. I heard Jason give an annoyed sigh.

“She claims he randomly stood up and stared out the window, then told her he was going out to meet someone,” he tersely replied, “but not when, where or for how long he’d be gone.”

“He was found at Times Square Grand Station; was there any indication of where he boarded the train?” Connor asked him.

“Well,” Jason told him, “that’s part of the mystery; he never got on the train.”

“I don’t understand,” Connor replied.

“His account wasn’t charged, and he didn’t have a ticket stub;” Jason told him then snidely said, “I was hoping my sister could figure out how he ended up on the tracks downtown.”

“I see,” Connor neutrally told him, “she’s working very hard.”

“Also,” Jason continued, “her…dog…is still in my second bedroom.” I quietly scoffed from my chair.

“We’ll be over to get her as soon as we can” Connor diplomatically answered, “but we’ll be here at least until 9:30.” I hear Jason deeply sigh again.

“It’s alright,” He passively replied, “my housekeeper is enjoying looking after her, but that dog has definitely gained a few pounds by now; she made her a ham omelet for lunch then cooked chicken and rice for her dinner.”

I loudly coughed, trying to cover my laughter. 

“Tell her to get to work on Westie.” Jason sternly ordered.

\----

8:22 pm

“What if it’s a poison…” I muttered to the scope, examining a residue I had scraped from the inside of the sneakers.

“What do you mean?” Connor asked, looking up from scanning more documents about Sophie.

“Clostridium botulinum,” I replied, “is one of the deadliest poisons on the planet!”

“I’m not following you,” Connor carefully replied; I took a deep breath to calm myself.

“Sophie Buhl!” I reminded him. Connor stared at me in confusion.

“Wait, how was her seizure a murder?”

“She had eczema and used a medicated cream regularly,” I quickly clarified, “and…”

“The toxin was mixed in with her cream!” Connor realized; his eyes widened. “That’s why they were taken from her locker, the residue from her cream would have been tested.”

“She applies the cream and two hours later takes the train to CMU,” I explained, “where the poison takes affect and paralyses her muscles, causing her to drown during the swim tournament.”

“Why wasn’t CB found during the autopsy?” Connor curiously asked.

“It’s rare and undetectable unless testing specifically for it.” I thought for a moment and moved back from my terminal.

“Does your blog allow comments?” I quickly asked. Connor nodded, and brought the page for ‘A Contemplation in Cerulean’ up on my terminal.

“Are you sure about this?” He asked me, “you don’t have the rapid test cards here to be certain, and if you’re wrong…”

“I’m not wrong!” I ungently told him and added a short comment.

_Guest: Sneakers belong to Sophie Buhl (2001 – 2020). Botulinum toxin still present._

Connor was still concerned though.

“Are you certain the bomber reads my blog, and your comment will…”

“Get his attention?” I shrugged slightly at him. “Stop the clock for me.”

“Shouldn’t we keep it running until he contacts us?” Connor asked as I refreshed the page, no new comments yet.

“I can’t believe the killer kept those sneakers all of these years,” I replied, then quickly looked up at Connor; we had the same revelation.

“He’s the bomber!” Conner exclaimed. We both startled when ‘my’ phone rang; we heard the hostage crying on the other end.

“Well…done you,” she sobbed, “come…and get…me…”

“Where are you?” Connor calmly asked her.

“MGM Grand Parking Garage!” She desperately cried out, “please help me!” Connor held the phone out to me while he contacted Hank and Captain Fowler to relay her location.

“Everything will be alright,” I gently tried to comfort her, “the DPD knows where you are and they’re coming to find you right now.”

“Why is this happening to me?” She sobbed; I had no idea how to respond.

“They’ll be there in just a moment,” I assured her, “do you see their lights yet?”

“I do,” she sniffed, “I see them, but the bomb is…”

“It’s alright, they know about it and will get you out safely, I promise,” I slowly told her, “I just need you to stay calm for me, can you do that?”

“Yes...they’re coming to the car now…” I heard voices in the background for a few minutes, then Hank answered the phone.

“We got her kid, good job. Bomb squad is taking care of her.” Connor pulled his coat off the back of my sofa but stopped me when I went to follow him.

“You don’t need to come to the scene with me,” he gently encouraged; I was confused, but he wouldn’t have suggested I stay behind without a reason, even if I didn’t realize what it was.

“Alright,” I amicably replied, “Drop me off at my car, and I’ll drive to Hank’s after I get our dog from Jason.”

\----

10:33 pm

I had no trouble getting into Jason’s building; the doorman recognized me as the sister of ‘one of those CyberLife directors’ who lived there. Yawning, I walked to the rear elevator and called it. Since it was so late it arrived right away, much to my relief. I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the wall until the elevator stopped two floors later.

“Bridget!” Phillip enthusiastically greeted me, “Not falling asleep, are you?”

“No, Philip,” I robotically replied, but kept leaning on the wall with my eyes closed. 

“So, when are you bringing that RK800 of yours to see our building?” I sighed and opened my eyes.

“We like where we live,” I told him, “it’s next to a park.”

“There a dog park here too,” he engagingly replied, “my whippet loves playing there. I met your pomeranian at Jason’s earlier today; she’s lovely. Not a lovely as her mommy, though.” I ignored his obviously come-on and leaned back on the wall then resumed staring at the ceiling when the elevator finally opened on my brother’s floor.

“Have a good night, Bridget!” Philip called after me. I gave him a non-committal wave over my shoulder as I walked down the hall to my brother’s door and quietly knocked on the door.

“Oh, you poor thing!” His housekeeper pulled me into the apartment and hugged me, where I saw she had convinced Jason to let my dog out of the second bedroom. There was a cat staring her down from the top of his entertainment center; the cat and Jason had identical looks on disgust on their faces.

“Working on that case all day to save that poor woman’s life…you must be exhausted!” She produced a blueberry muffin from somewhere and handed it to me. 

“Now you eat that, if you anything like your brother under stress, you haven’t had a proper meal all day.” 

“I’m fine,” I calmly told her as Jason snapped, “she’s fine!”

I accepted the muffin and knelt next to Holly, giving her a little piece.

“Doesn’t that android boyfriend of yours remind you to eat?” She worriedly asked, “you look skinny…” I tried not to laugh at the irony.

“He makes certain I eat healthy meals;” I assured her, “he’s quite insistent.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” she approved, “now if only this one would listen to me.”

“I’ve always listened to Mrs. Hudson,” Jason corrected her.

“Thank you for looking after my canine daughter…you’re here awfully late,” I observed as she smiled at my small joke.

“I wanted to make certain you had something to eat.” I smiled in return as she got her purse and coat. “Will I see you in the morning, dear?”

“Ummm, no,” I hesitantly replied, “I’m staying at my boyfriends…old roommates…house.”

“Well have a good night then.” She waved goodbye and left me and Jason alone.

“What’s your theory on my stolen module?” Jason asked without preamble.

“Westie tried to sell the plans to a competitor, my guess is Lime, but they didn’t like his disloyalty, so they killed him and stole the memory card.” I finished my snack and threw the wrapper into recycling.

“Then prove it,” he sharply replied, putting his tablet down, “when you’re done playing hero.”

“What’s your cat’s name?” I shot back, ignoring his cranky tone.

“Sir Doyle,” he tersely replied. I suspected he was annoyed not with me leaving Holly with him for a day, but for abandoning him alone so soon with his snooty cat.

“Thanks again,” I casually remarked, “I need to call the elevator before Philip needs it.”

\----

11:15

I sleepily knocked on Hank’s door, glad when Connor answered. He waited for me to place my dog on the floor and gave me a deep hug, then held my head to kiss me. I looked up at him confused but he merely winked.

“Never though I’d see you two back here so soon;” Hank told me from the sofa, “by the way same rules apply as before.” 

I laughed to myself, remembering Hank’s rules were ‘your sex better not wake me up’ and ‘don’t have sex outside of Connor’s room,’ both of which we nearly broke a few months prior. I let our dog off her leash, and she walked over to Sumo, where she curled up on his bed using his tail as a pillow. Sumo raised his head and huffed at her, then laid it back down when she ignored him. Connor went to his old bedroom to put sheets on the bed.

“What happened after you disconnected the call?” I curiously asked Hank while stifling a yawn.

“After bomb squad approached the car,” Hank flatly told me, “they quickly determined the bomb was motion and sound triggered, which the hostage later confirmed she was warned of.”

“They told her the bomb would go off if she broke the windows?” I incredulously asked. Hank nodded toward the tv screen; he was watching a basketball game.

“Yes, and also if she screamed for help or moved around too much.” 

“That’s just cruel.” I muttered, staring at the floor. 

“They quickly found the disarm switch attached to the battery, then we broke the window to get her out because she was too terrified to move.”

“Poor woman,” I quietly replied; no one deserved to be mentally tortured.

“That’s when I got on the phone with you,” Hank finished.

“How did the woman end up locked in a car with a bomb wired to it?” I asked him.

“She lives in Corktown; two android males wearing masks broke in and forced her into the back of a van, then covered her head.”

“That sounds familiar,” I sarcastically replied. 

“They drove her around for a while, then next thing she sees when they removed the hood is a car wired with enough explosives to take down a house.” Hank angrily added, “then they shove her into the front seat and told her the warnings.

“Why did she call the phone I was left over Christmas?” I quickly asked him. A commercial started on the TV so Hank face me.

“She’s smart, first thing she does is try the doors but discovers she’s lock in; then realizes the only thing she sees is a phone with instructions to call the number on that private network you’ve accesses. Next she sees the tablet with instructions to read exactly what he typed; one deviation he would set the bomb off.”

“Why her,” I asked Hank, “why this particular woman?”

“She’s a CyberLife employee with the acculturation department,” Hank sadly replied. I shook my head as Connor came back from changing his sheets.

“Why would anyone do this, this setup was so…elaborate.” Hank wondered.

“I can’t be the only person in Detroit who gets bored.” I casually told them but thought quickly when I saw Connor’s shocked expression.

“Is the hostage alright?” I gently asked Connor.

“She’s been assigned a counselor and is spending a few days with her daughter,” he softly replied, watching me with curiosity. I nodded with satisfaction and went to the bathroom to get cleaned up.

I stood under the warm water for a moment trying to remember if I had taken any ibuprofen today; my muscle aches were much worse now. I rinsed the rest of my conditioner out of my hair and splashed my face, then joined Connor in his old bedroom. I quickly took an ibuprofen with a gulp of water, then put my glass back on the nightstand and seeing our dog was curled up in her old bed, discreetly closed the door.

“Did the Lisa contact you about the windows?” I asked Connor while I was combing my hair, “I have a voicemail saying they’ve boarded ours up.” My comb caught on a particularly tough knot; I struggled with it for a moment when he caught my hand and took the comb away, then sat behind me to free the tangle.

“How do you know how to comb long hair?” I teased him. “Did a certain petite blond ST200 teach you?”

“Maybe,” he vaguely replied. He started combing sections that I had already done, but he seemed to be enjoying himself, so I closed my eyes and let him be. 

“My love,” Connor hesitantly asked, “are you _aware_ that in the last day, you not only survived an explosion but also saved a hostage, calming her until the DPD arrived?” I shifted uncomfortably.

“The situations weren’t quite that dramatic,” I quietly replied with my eyes still closed. He flipped my damp hair out of his way and gently rubbed my shoulders.

“Did you ever attend hostage negotiation training?” He bluntly asked.

“No,” I calmly replied as he massaged my neck; I knew he was trying to coax information from me, so I stood up and wrapped my damp hair into a bun on top of my head.

“You’re incredibly good with people,” he casually added, “when they’re traumatized.” I joined him on the bed and laid next to him.

“I was The Deviant Sympathizer,” I told him while pointing at myself, fully aware of his teasing tone. I watched him sternly as he leaned over me with his face just a few inches from mine. 

“Is there anything you want to tell me?” He quietly asked, scanning my face for micro-expressions. I passively stared up at him, revealing nothing. 

“No,” I gently replied, and moving my hands to back of his neck and head then lightly pulling his hair, coerced him to kiss me, effectively ending his questioning for the night.


End file.
